


That Sociable Spirit

by mrs_d



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon-Typical Violence, Lux (Lucifer TV), Multi, POV Outsider, Season/Series 03, See notes for Trigger Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25853062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: Five first impressions of Lucifer Morningstar (and one first impression of Chloe Decker).
Relationships: Chloe Decker & Lucifer Morningstar, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Lucifer Morningstar & Original Characters
Comments: 24
Kudos: 151





	1. Anton

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning!**
> 
> This story contains indirect references to several troubling topics, including: parental abuse, drug/alcohol addiction, assault, forcible confinement, rape, sexual assault, and domestic violence. **None of these events occur within the story itself, and there are no graphic details or descriptions given.**
> 
> I will post a non-specific warning in the notes at the beginning of each chapter, and a more detailed outline (with spoilers) in the endnotes, so you have the opportunity to better prepare yourself. If there is something that I did not tag for that you feel requires a warning, please don't hesitate to let me know in a comment, or send me an email at partiestocoverthesilence@gmail.com if you are uncomfortable speaking out publicly. 
> 
> Many thanks to Calliope_Soars and chasm-side for beta. Title comes from _Paradise Lost._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief reference to emotional abuse by a parent. (More detailed warning can be found in the endnotes.)

Well, the job interview was really weird.

For starters, it wasn’t even ten in the morning, and your brother already had a stiff drink in his hand. Which— hey, I don’t want to judge, but you asked me about my first impressions, and, well, that made an impression. 

Not like I cared, though. I was pretty desperate. I’d just graduated college, I was working at a few bars, you know, trying to pay the rent until I found something better? Anyway.

The first thing your brother said to me, I’ll never forget it. He said, “This is the part where you lie to me.” 

And I just kinda looked at him, because, what the hell was I supposed to say to that? Then he told me to tell him about how I’ve always been passionate about picking up bottles and mopping the floor.

Yeah. Yeah, it’s funny, in retrospect. I mean, he’s right. But, in that moment, I had no clue what was going on. He talked for a while about how boring job interviews were. I think he called them _meaningless rituals?_ Which— sure, that’s fair.

He said we could skip all that, because he had a better method. And then he looked into my eyes, and I felt... it was like....

I don’t know how to describe it. He asked me what I wanted, and... I couldn’t think, you know? It was weird. It took me a minute to remember that I was at a freaking job interview and that I had to make a good impression and all that. 

So I said, “You mean, what do I want out of the position?”

And Mr. Morningstar looked, I don’t know, happy, when I said that? He leaned in closer, and he said, “Interesting.”

Ha. Yeah, I have no idea what he meant by that, either. 

I really don’t know what happened next, but he asked me again what I wanted, and I heard— well. I thought it was somebody else talking, but it was me. I told him I never wanted to ask my dad for money ever again.

He asked me why, and... I wanted to stop talking, but I couldn’t. I told him about how my dad’s a prick, how he keeps a record of all the times I asked him for money, how he tells me I’m not worth a penny if I’m not paying him back. I said all that, and probably more, I don’t even know, but eventually Mr. Morningstar looked away, and I stopped talking. 

I was so embarrassed. And so tired, like absolutely exhausted. I thought I blew it. Thought there was no chance that he would give me a job after that.

So I started apologizing, tripping over myself like, _Sorry, sorry, sorry,_ but Mr. Morningstar, he just asked me if I had a black t-shirt and black jeans with no holes. I told him maybe, but I wasn’t sure, and, next thing I know, he’s asking Maze to get me a hundred bucks from petty cash, so I could buy a uniform. 

I couldn’t believe it. But then, get this, he said, _Make it two hundred,_ and he stood up, told me Maze would handle the paperwork, and that I started at 8.

And that was that. I got the job. 

So, yeah, that was my first impression. Weirdest interview I ever had. But— 

Well, no, I just gonna say, that was my _first_ impression, but that wasn’t what stayed with me. What really cemented for me the kind of guy your brother is, that happened a few weeks later, after I got my first paycheck. 

So, I saw right away that they didn’t deduct the two hundred bucks for my uniform. I thought it was a mistake, so I thought I’d talk to Mr. Morningstar about it. But he’s so busy, you know? Every time he’s in the bar, he’s either putting on a show, partying, or talking to people. You know they line up around the corner to talk to him, right? It’s weird, how popular he is. 

So finally, I decided to just write him a check. I didn’t want to hurt the guy’s feelings, but money is money. I didn’t want to leave him in the lurch, you know?

It took me a while to find a chance to give it to him. Finally, one night, Mr. Morningstar showed up around last call, and when the bouncers started kicking people out, he sat down at his piano and just.... well, you’ve heard him play.

Oh, you haven’t? Not for a while? Stick around, he’ll be here soon. I’m sure he’ll play something.

Anyway. The song he was playing that night, the chords sounded like some shitty Boomer jam my dad would like, but the way he played it, it was something else. I don’t know where he learned to play like that.... Did you guys take lessons, when you were kids? 

Oh. I see. Cool. 

So, yeah, I was cleaning up, and he was playing and smoking and drinking, while Claire and Patrick counted out the cash register. I went into the kitchen for the mop and bucket, and I guess I couldn’t hear over the water running, but Mr. Morningstar stopped playing at some point and told everybody else to go home. I came out of the kitchen and the place was empty. 

He asked me why I was still there, and I explained about the floors. He told me, never mind, the morning people could do it. I told him I already had the mop bucket full, and so on and so on, and yeah. Long story short, I mopped the floors. 

And when I was done, I stopped before I went back into the kitchen, and I pulled the check out of my pocket. I gave it to him, I told him I wanted to pay him back.

I actually think I surprised him. He gave me this weird look and said, “You don’t owe me anything.”

So, I explained about the uniform, and how I thought he was gonna take it out of my pay, and all that, and he didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he poured me a drink.

Yeah. I think that’s his solution to a lot of problems, but anyway.

He told me he was happy to buy me a uniform if it meant I didn’t have to go more into debt with my dad. Said that any time I wanted to stick it to my old man, he’d back me up, because he understood what it was like to have a tyrant for a— uh, no offence, I’m sure he didn’t mean— 

Oh. Well. Okay then, maybe he did. 

So yeah, I think that made more of an impression than anything else — him not taking the money, I mean. It was good of him to help me out like that. He’s a good guy. Bit weird. Eccentric, I guess you’d say— oh! I didn’t even tell you the strangest part. 

When I left that night, he had my check in one hand, and his cigarette in the other. I said goodnight, he said goodnight, and then he _lit my check on fire._ Didn’t even flinch, just held it in his hand and watched it burn. 

It was crazy... but you gotta admit, the guy knows how to prove a point, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More detailed warning: Anton mentions that he owes his father a lot of money, and that his father tells him he is worthless because he cannot pay it back.


	2. Trudy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for references to past drug/alcohol addiction, attempted rape/assault, offensive misogynistic language, and physical assault of a woman. (More detailed warning can be found in the endnotes.)

You’re Mr. Morningstar’s sister? But you look nothing like— oh, I see. That makes sense.

Well, it’s nice to meet you. Thank God you’re here, in fact. To be honest, I’ve been concerned for some time. Mr. Morningstar doesn’t seem to have much of a support system. If you want him to get clean, you should get him out of here. Take him home for a few months or— 

Oh. _Oh._

You know, I always suspected that his family life wasn’t good. Was he already using, when your father kicked him out? How young did he— I’m sorry, that’s none of my business. I suppose I’m just curious, you know. I’ve met a lot of people in his situation. I’m not allowed to give you any of their names, of course, but....

Yes, I am. Eighteen years I’ve been sober now. 

I suppose it does seem strange that I work at Lux, given everything that goes on around here. I see it all, you know — the booze, the blow, the E, the acid. I’ll admit it’s hard sometimes, but I grew up in places like this, and something about it just feels like home. 

My parents owned a bar, so maybe you could say that I was predestined to become an addict. _I_ wouldn’t say that. Just because I believe in a Higher Power doesn’t mean I believe in fate. I’ve fought long and hard to build the person I am today, and nobody’s in control of my destiny. 

I’m glad to be here. Really. I’m useful here. I can’t tell you how many customers I’ve taken to the hospital over the years. Mostly for overdoses, but not always. Sometimes there’s a fight, and the damage is more than I can handle. 

See, I always wanted to be a doctor, but by the time I got my life together, I was too old and too broke to go to college. So I took a First Aid course. Then another one, and another. And then I started volunteering for the organization, teaching the course. They paid for me to take a couple classes at community college, and now Mr. Morningstar does the same. 

Yeah, he does. He’s a good boss. A little unorthodox, maybe, and of course you know about his habits, but...

I remember one time, this kid came into Lux. She must’ve had a pretty good fake ID to pull a fast one on Joel, because I doubt she was a day older than 17. And she was _loaded._ Alcohol and ecstasy, the doctor told me later, not that I couldn’t have guessed. 

I was working the floor, just keeping an eye on things, and this girl, she— I’m sorry, this part is pretty upsetting. 

She passed out on one of the sofas. These two older men noticed before I did. They walked up to her, and— well, let’s just say they didn’t get to do whatever it was they wanted to do to her. I raced over there and stopped them. Damn near broke my neck I came down those stairs so fast. 

I got myself in between them and her, and they were not happy about that, let me tell you. For a minute there, I thought I was toast. Because I’m tough — I wouldn’t be in this business if I wasn’t — but look at me. I’m five-foot-nothing, and I’m not young. These guys had to be as tall as your brother, and twice as wide. Like football players. I didn’t even have time to radio Joel for back-up before they started shoving me, calling me a bitch, a cunt, you name it. One of them hit me right in the face. But I didn’t move an inch. The only way they were gonna touch that girl was over my dead body. 

Then, out of nowhere, your brother showed up.

It was scary. He pulled them off me like they were ants or something. Just tiny little things that didn’t matter to him at all. The one who hit me, Mr. Morningstar broke his wrist like it was nothing, a quick little snap, and the guy was on the floor. 

The other one tried to back off after that, but Mr. Morningstar didn’t let him get far. He didn’t even touch him, he just — he glared, or something, I don’t know, his back was to me. But the guy screamed and tried to run. Tried to get as far away from Mr. Morningstar as possible. Joel was there, though, and stopped him. I found out later he took the guys outside and let the cops take care of them. He told me they were banned, and they’d never be allowed back in, but I’d be surprised if either of them ever tried. 

Anyway. After they were gone, your brother noticed my nose was bleeding, and in the club lights his eyes looked... red.

No, not red like he’d been crying, red, like.... 

Well, I don’t believe in that kind of thing, but I suppose it was kind of demonic. 

He told me to take the girl to the hospital and that I had the rest of the week off. I told him that wasn’t necessary, my nose wasn’t even broken, but he handed me the biggest wad of cash I’ve ever seen, and he said, “I insist.”

And, well, I wasn’t going to argue with _that._

So I took the girl to the ER. Spent all night there, waiting for news. When she woke up, we talked a bit. I told her my story, what I was like when I was her age, and what happened to me. I don’t know how much of it sunk in, but I haven’t seen her back at Lux since. I hope she’s doing okay. 

There were eight hours of overtime on my paycheck that week. I don’t know how he knew how long I was at the hospital. I didn’t tell him. Anybody else in my situation, maybe they would’ve just dropped the girl off and left, but I couldn’t do that. And, somehow, Mr. Morningstar knew that I wouldn’t. 

So, yes, he is a good boss. And a good person, I think, underneath it all. He’s certainly one of the most generous people I’ve ever met. Don’t tell him I said that, though.

No, I just— well, I’m sure you know how he gets about compliments like that. I mean, God forbid _the Devil_ have a positive impact on those around him, right?

Actually, do you know why he calls himself—? Never mind, that’s none of my business, either. 

The first time I met him? Well, he didn’t like me. I was pretty upfront, in the interview, about being in recovery. He told me I was no fun, and that it wouldn’t last, but he took me seriously, when I told him that what I wanted most of all was to stay clean. That said, he also warned me not to _get preachy about it_ and that he wouldn’t be joining me for _any of that 12-step nonsense._

No, he’s never tempted me. He doesn’t offer me drinks, or shove it in my face if he’s doing drugs while I’m around. I mean, look at this party — he brought three whole cases of Diet Coke. I’m the only one on staff who doesn’t drink, but he made sure there was enough, because he knows it’s my favorite. 

So, yeah, I think we’re kinda friends now. He respects me. We’ve been through a lot, the last few years. Maybe— I don’t know. Never mind.

No, I was just going to say— maybe it’s good for him to see what sobriety looks like. Maybe, even if he’s not ready to get clean, having somebody like me around could offer a good example, something to strive for. 

Ugh, I’m sorry. Looks like I got preachy after all! I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this. Guess you’re just easy to talk to. 

In any case, I think it’s really good that you’re here. Even if your home life wasn’t that great growing up, having a family connection might be all it takes to keep Mr. Morningstar from getting too out-of-control. 

Frankly, I’m a bit surprised that he hasn’t OD’d yet. But, as my sponsor, God rest him, used to say, it’s a long fall to rock bottom. I worry about what’ll happen when Mr. Morningstar stops falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More detailed warning: Trudy is a former addict/alcoholic, who has been in recovery for eighteen years. As head of security at Lux, she recounts the story of how she intercepted two men attempting to take advantage of a young woman who had had too much to drink and passed out. She confronted them, they verbally attacked her, and one of them punched her in the face.


	3. Joel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for references to murder, kidnapping, forcible confinement, and rape. (More detailed warning can be found in the endnotes.)

I don’t wanna talk to you. 

I don’t care if you’re not a cop. I’m still not talking. Ain’t you ever heard the one about loose lips sinking ships? Boss pays me good money not to answer questions.

His sister? Really. Well, ain’t that a hell of a thing. Why you here? You looking to get into the family business?

Ha. No, I don’t mean Lux. I mean _the family business._

Well... shit. I don’t wanna be the one to explain it if you don’t know. Guess you and your brother oughta have a chat. What are you talking to me for, anyway?

Oh. Well, that’s nice. Suppose I could tell you a few things about your big brother. 

_Little_ brother? Get outta here, you don’t look a day over thirty.

Beautiful _and_ charming, how about that. You and the boss, you got good genes, huh?

Anyways, yeah. The first time I met him, he was busting my balls. 

No, not literally. Not that he couldn’t if he wanted to. I mean, I ain’t gay, but I got eyes.

No, I used to work for a guy. Name a Vinnie. Don’t know if you’ve heard of him, but your brother knows him. Or _knew_ him, I should say. Vinnie went and got himself whacked a coupla years ago. 

No, I said _whacked._ Whacked, you know— you don’t know? Uh. He was killed. Somebody murders somebody in my line a work, you call it getting whacked. 

Yeah, learn something new every day, don’t you?

So, the cops, they thought maybe I did it. Me or somebody else working for Vinnie. I mean, we all thought the guy was an asshole, so it wasn’t unreasonable to think we’d kill him, you know? And it turns out that Vinnie was sleeping with my girlfriend, so they thought maybe I found out and lost my head. Shot Vinnie because I was jealous. But I didn’t know. Didn’t find out till Decker— 

Yeah, Decker. Chloe Decker. Your brother’s, uh, partner.

Oh, you haven’t met her yet? She’s around here somewhere, I think. Maybe she’s upstairs with the boss. 

No, she’s all right. For a cop. Flashes her badge every time I let her in. She don’t have to do that, but it keeps the people waiting in line from bitching at me, so I appreciate it. 

Anyways. Decker’s the one told me about Carla and Vinnie. I had no idea. Even if I did, though, me and Carla were falling apart. It didn’t surprise me that she was getting some action on the side. Lord knows I was tempted to do the same. 

But for a minute there, it looked pretty bad. I was cuffed to the table, Decker giving me the stink eye. I think she really thought I did it. Your brother, though, after he talked to me for a minute, he was on my side. Said something about how I didn’t _desire vengeance._ He asked me what I did desire, and I told him straight-up: I wanted to work for a better organization, a better boss. He asked a couple more questions, and then bam. I got the best job I ever had. 

It was funny. Decker was so pissed. She knows my rap sheet, knows the kinda work I did for Vinnie. The first few weeks I was here, she kept an eye on me. Surveillance van down at the corner, binoculars in the hotel window across the street — you know, classic cop stuff. Your brother knew, of course. Guy’s got eyes in the back of his head, I swear. He never asked me to do anything till Decker wasn’t looking. 

What’d he ask me to do? Oh, come on now, I can’t tell you that. Who knows who might be listening? Let me tell you what I _can_ say, though: your brother’s one hell of a guy. 

What’s funny? He is. He gave me a shot when I had nothing. Knew I’d be loyal, you see. He knew he could trust me. And I know enough lowlifes around this town to know who’s coming to him for a favor and why — on whose behalf, I should say. Everybody works for somebody, you know? And me, I work for him. 

A good person? I don’t know about that. I mean, is anybody in this business really good? I guess he’s as good as you can be. He’s never had anybody whacked, that I know of — though his right hand, Maze, she’s another story. 

And he’s got this, this code, I guess you’d call it. Lines he don’t cross. Like, if I find out that somebody he dealt with is using his favor to do something real shady — I’m talking scum of the earth kinda stuff here, now, you understand? 

Uh... no. Don’t make me say it. You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you. You really know nothing about your brother’s line a work, huh?

All right, I’ll give you an example. Did you hear about that case a few years back, I think it was on the East Coast somewhere, that woman that was locked up in some guy’s basement for years? She went missing when she was, I don’t know, eighteen? Turns out this dirtbag had her. Never let her leave the house, chained her up, the whole nine yards. When the neighbors saw her, he said she was his _wife._

No, she got away, finally. Her _and_ her two kids.

Yeah. Like I said, scum of the earth.

Anyways, stuff like that, the boss wants nothing to do with that. And if I find out that somebody he’s dealt with has been trafficking women or kids, or— or taking advantage of people? Hoo boy, look out. I’m talking full-on apeshit, losing his mind, absolutely fucking livid. Never seen anything like it.

Why’s it bother him so much? Uh, you mean, aside from him just being a person with a conscience, a soul? 

Well, when it happens, I don’t exactly ask, you know, what with messengers having a habit of getting shot from time to time. But if I had to guess, I think it has something to do with freedom. 

Yeah, you know, choice. Boss is all about that stuff. I mean, he named himself after the fucking Devil. And, it’s been a while since Sunday School, but wasn’t the Devil all about freedom? He rebelled against God, or something like that?

Wow... okay. You know a lot more about that than I do, damn.

Anyways, yeah. Your brother’s all right. If the Devil’s anything like him, well. The Devil should be grateful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More detailed warning: Joel recounts the story of how he was briefly suspected of murdering his former employer. He also makes passing reference to a news story in which a young woman was kidnapped and held captive for several years, bearing two of her kidnapper's children before she managed to escape.


	4. Claire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings needed here... unless you find excessive pop culture references offensive.

Mr. Morningstar? Oh, he’s great... for a vampire.

No, of _course_ I know vampires aren’t real, they— 

Oh. Really? Whoa, that’s so cool. Who would’ve thought my boss’ sister would know so much about folktales and mythology? 

What? Oh, yeah, I heard you talking to Anton earlier. I didn’t catch your name, though...?

Oh, that’s so pretty! I’ve never heard that name for a girl before. Boy, your parents were cool, huh? My parents were just like, here kid, here’s your grandma’s name, now go play outside. Meanwhile, you’re named after the Ninja Turtle, and your brother’s— 

No, that’s right, I said _turtle_. Ninja turt— you don’t know TMNT? Teenage Mutant— no? Well, maybe your parents weren’t that cool after all. 

I’m just kidding, I’m sure your parents were great. You know, your brother never talks about them. Or your family at all, really. Just your one brother, Amend— Amen—

Yeah, A-men-a-diel, there we go. Sorry, I only met him once. Do you guys, like, have a short form for that? Mendy, or Amen, or, I don’t know, Fred?

Huh. The oldest? Yeah, okay, I guess I could see why there’s no silly nicknames, then. My oldest brother, yeesh. Takes himself _way_ too seriously. 

No way. No way! Your brother calls him _Luci?_ That’s adorable, I love it. 

Oh, God, no, of course _I’d_ never call him that. I know he’s your brother, but, like, he’s way too.... I wouldn’t chance it. Why do you think I think he’s a vampire?

Okay, so, look, it started as a joke. Me and some of the other girls, we kinda have these theories. Because, as great as your brother is — seriously, he’s the best boss I’ve ever had — you gotta admit the guy’s a little.... 

Yeah. Yes. _So_ glad you said that and not me. I know he’s not down here yet, but I would not be surprised if his ears are burning. He just... knows stuff, sometimes. It’s weird. 

We talk about it all the time — when he’s not around, of course. Like I said, we have these theories. Jillian thinks he’s telepathic, like Professor X or something; Georgia thinks he’s a hypnotist; and Brigette thinks he’s actually the Devil, which— oh my God, can you _imagine?_ I mean, I know he _says_ he is, but you have to be a special type of crazy to believe him. 

And, anyway, yeah. I think he’s a vampire. 

Why? Okay, so, this is a story. The first night I worked here — this is nuts, but I swear to God it’s true, okay? Okay. 

So, the first night I worked here, some asshole comes up to your brother. He was right there, on that couch, with two girls and two guys, all of them super pretty, of course. And this asshole comes up, he had a knife. He grabs your brother by his suit jacket, yanks him up and _stabs_ him, right in the gut, okay? I saw it, I swear to God I saw it. But your brother just pulls him back, and I’m expecting there to be, like, blood everywhere, but no. Your brother just pulls him back, talks to him for, like, a second, and takes the knife right out of his hand. Just like that. 

No, there was no blood! Nothing. He was _fine._ Completely fine!

I don’t know what happened. He put the knife in his pocket and he grabbed the dude that attacked him. Joel said they went out the front door, and your brother looked _really_ pissed, so nobody asked any questions. And then he came right back to the couch, right back to his, uh, friends, and had a drink, and that was that. 

Yeah, it was _super_ weird. And, like, I found this out later, but usually when there’s a troublemaker, Maze or Joel or somebody will show us all a picture, and, like, tell us not to let them in, or to call Trudy if they’re here, or whatever. But not this dude. Boss didn’t tell us anything, and the guy _never_ came back.

So that was my first night! Hell of a way to start my new job, let me tell you. I almost quit right then and there. My girlfriend — ex, now — she wanted me to quit. Said I didn’t need to be working somewhere where even the boss could get stabbed. And like, okay, she’s got a point. Maybe. But the pay is _so_ good. _Stupid_ good. And the hours let me pick my daughter up from school every afternoon, and I can write in the mornings, and— 

Yeah. Yeah, it’s kind of embarrassing, I write short stories. 

Um, they’re kinda like horror, but with some comedy, too? It’s hard to explain. I’m trying to get published, but it’s not easy. Your brother actually offered— I guess he knows a couple people in the industry? He offered to help me out, but I don’t know. I kinda want to do it myself, you know? And he’s done enough, just giving me this job, I already feel like I owe him. 

What? Oh, yeah. Right, the stabby thing. So, Patrick said it was a fake knife. One of those movie prop things, you know, where the blade springs into the handle? He said that Maze said that it was all just a play. The guy wanted to intimidate your brother, so he could get some money outta him. 

But that doesn’t make sense to me. Why would you stab somebody with a fake knife if you’re trying to scare him? Wouldn’t it be smarter to just hold the knife and _threaten_ to stab him? Because, as soon as you stab him, he knows it’s a fake, and he knows you’re not really a threat at all. You know?

Right! Right, that’s exactly what I mean. And like, I saw the knife. It did not look fake, and it did not look like it bounced into the handle when he stabbed your brother. But it didn’t hurt him either. I can’t explain it. 

I know. I _know,_ it sounds crazy, but that’s what I saw.

And that’s not the only time I’ve seen some weird shit around here, okay? One time, I came in early for my shift — I can’t remember why, I think it was when my daughter was at my sister’s? Oh! No, no, it was summer camp. Anyway, I came in early through the kitchen doors, and I could hear your brother playing the piano out here. It was nice, he’s _so_ talented! So I took my sweater off, tied up my apron, and I went to go to the bar, like I would any other day. Normal, right? 

No. Because just before I went around the corner, your brother stopped playing, and I looked, and he was _moving_ the _goddamn piano_ with _one hand._

Few inches to the right, maybe? Maybe he thought it was off-center, I don’t know. That’s not the point — the point is, he lifted it up at the back, and he moved it. Not on the wheels, just a straight deadlift, with one hand — the way you move a stroller when the wheels are locked.

I have never seen anything like it. I didn’t even think it was possible, to be honest. Like, piano moving is a specialized thing — people pay good money to get a team of guys to move a piano, you don’t just lift it up like it’s nothing!

Yeah. _Yeah._ He’s _super_ strong. And knives apparently can’t hurt him. Also, he drinks all the time, does all kinds of drugs, but he never gets drunk. Not really. And... he _does_ do some freaky shit with his eyes. Like, don’t tell Georgia, but I think maybe she’s right, and he can hypnotize people. Like, for real. Add to that the fact that I’ve never seen him in the sun for more than a few minutes? 

Survey says? Vampire.

Ha! No, it’s from _Buffy._ Well, actually, it’s a reference to _Family Feud._ _Buffy_ did a lot of that kinda stuff, you know, that pop culture joke-within-a-joke thing. God, that was a good show.

You’ve never seen it? Never? Wow, okay. We need to rectify that. How long are you in LA, let’s put something in the calendar.

Yes, I’m kidding. Sort of. Not really. But seriously, everybody needs to watch _Buffy._ I don’t care who you are, it’s great.

I wonder if your brother’s seen it. That’d be awkward.

I’m kidding! I know vampires aren’t real, and your brother is just a... weird dude who works out a lot. He is great, though. Like, how many bosses would offer to help their head waitress get her novel published? Not many, I’ll tell you. Not to mention the pay, the health coverage, the flexible hours— oh, and God help the man who tries to harass one of us. If your brother doesn’t have his head, Maze sure will. 

Yeah, no, so he’s cool. Intimidating, and kinda scary sometimes, but he’s on our side, you know? 

Also, though, he joked the other day about hooking up with Shakespeare, so, unless your entire family is made of crazy-strong, immortal beings, I’m sticking with my theory.


	5. Brigette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for references to addiction and discussion of violence against women/domestic assault. (More detailed warning can be found in the endnotes.)

What? Oh. Yeah, my boss is the Devil. It’s no big deal.

A lot of people, when I say that, think I mean, like, he’s an asshole to work for. He’s really not. He’s just literally, actually the Devil. 

Well, he says he is, for one thing. And I know him well enough to know he’s not a liar. I was one of his first hires, did you know that? Me and Patrick— and Delilah, of course, poor thing. We’ve been here since the beginning, we know what’s up. Seen some shit, let me tell you. How do you know him?

You— oh. Really? So you’re... okay, wow. _Wow._ Uh. Nice to meet you.

Um, yeah. I’ve known for a while. It doesn’t bother me. I know he’s not out to get me, or whatever it is you and your side think he’s up to. He’s not evil, he’s just... living his life. He actually helps a lot of people. Including me. I owe him a pretty huge favor.

I shouldn’t really... okay. Let’s go over there, where it’s quieter. I don’t want somebody to overhear and get the wrong idea.

I first met Lucifer when I applied for the job. I didn’t have a lot of experience dancing — not at a place like this, anyway — but I was desperate. See, my boyfriend at the time, Bobby, he had a habit, and I was so... I don’t know, brainwashed, almost? I thought it was my job to support him. I guess I thought I had to fix him. 

It was stupid — I was stupid. I took care of him for years, while he just kept fucking up. By the time I came here for the interview, it was bad. I was completely broke, and he was... well. Let’s just say he’d taken up a new hobby, and it left me with more than a few bruises. 

So I came in for an interview — well, it wasn’t really an interview so much as a conversation, and a weird one at that. Your brother asked me what I wanted, and I... I actually don’t remember what I told him. I had a hard time, back then, explaining myself. Expressing my needs, as Doctor Martin puts it.

Oh, she’s my therapist. Came highly recommended by the Devil himself, and she’s absolutely wonderful, let me tell you. But I’m jumping ahead. 

Anyway. I started working here the next day, and all night Lucifer was watching me. But, like, not in a creepy way. More like... I don’t know. It’s hard to explain, but it became pretty normal after a day or two. Whenever he was at Lux, I felt like he was keeping an eye on me. 

I’d been here for a few months when Bobby got into trouble. Big trouble, with some powerful people. He owed them a lot of money. Like, a lot. Way more than I knew about. And — ugh, he was such a fucking scumbag, I can’t believe I stayed with him so long. He told them about me, about where I worked. And even then, everybody in certain circles knew about Lucifer. He doesn’t exactly keep a low profile, you know? Everybody knows he’s loaded, and everybody also knows that you don’t cross him. 

Or— well. Almost everybody. These guys that came after me clearly didn’t get the memo.

They stayed at my table all night, and I didn’t think anything of it at first. A lot of guys hang out near the dancers. Cheaper than a strip club, I guess, and almost as good. But they didn’t tip at all, and they kept looking at me, and then talking to each other. The music was too loud, I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was kinda weird. 

So, last call comes, and these dudes leave, and everything was normal. I changed out of my costume, helped clean up, got ready to go home. Lucifer was playing the piano the whole time, the way he does when he doesn’t take somebody upstairs — which didn’t happen very often back then. It was nice. Like I said, normal. When we were done closing up, I grabbed my stuff, and I left, the way I always did. 

I got about halfway home, and I ran into the guys who were at the bar all night. They... sorry, this is kinda hard to talk about. 

Thanks. 

They had guns, and they... threatened me, I guess. Told me that Bobby owed them too much, so I could either steal from my boss, or they’d... well. Basically, they’d take me. Said I could work off the debt, if you know what I mean.

I didn’t know what to do. And, being the idiot I was back then, my first thought was about Bobby. I thought he was innocent in this whole thing — I didn’t realize that he’d sold me out like that. I raced home and I told him what happened, and when he explained that it was him who told them who my boss was, I flipped out. Kinda lost my mind, to be honest, yelling and screaming. He didn’t— he didn’t like that.

Yeah.

When I went to work the next night, I used almost an entire thing of concealer, but it didn’t matter. My costume’s pretty skimpy, it’s hard to hide those kind of bruises. Maze noticed right away and told me to go home. 

I cried. I cried a lot. I was a mess. I told her the whole story, about how I really needed the money, and that if I went home, it would only get worse, because Bobby had basically ordered me to rob Lux.

Maze was... well, she doesn’t do great with emotion, you know, so she just kinda stared at me. But when I got to that last part, she grabbed my arm and pulled me to the elevator. 

No, it didn’t hurt. I mean, I was a walking bruise at that point, so everything hurt, but she was surprisingly gentle.

She got into the elevator with me, and we started to go up. And at this point, I was freaking out. I knew I was about to lose my job, and Lucifer... well, like I said, he has a reputation. I thought it was a frying pan-fire situation, you know?

Oh, you don’t— it’s a human expression. Old-fashioned — my grandmother used to say it a lot. It means, like, when you’re going from one bad situation to something worse, you’re going out of the frying pan and into the fire. 

Yeah, so that’s how I felt. I thought I was done for. But the elevator doors opened, Lucifer took one look at me, and told me to go to the balcony and get in the hot tub. 

I was... well, _confused_ isn’t really a strong enough word, but it comes close, I guess. I think I literally said, _What the fuck?_ which, you know, is not the kinda thing you usually say to your boss.

But he just poured me a drink and told me again, so... I went. You don’t argue with him, you know? Not if you can help it. And the hot water really did feel nice. I was pretty banged up. 

I was in there for about fifteen minutes, then he came out to the balcony. He sat down in this lounge chair like it was his throne, and he asked me — well, he _told_ me — to tell him everything. 

So I did. I talked for... ever, it felt like. He didn’t say a word the whole time, didn’t interrupt me once. Then, when I was finally finished, he said, “I can take care of this, if you like. All I ask in return is that you do me a favor.”

I think that was the first time I really believed he was... well, if not the Devil, then powerful at least. I totally understand why so many people come to him with their problems. It was like the scales fell off my eyes, you know?

That’s another one of my grandmother’s expressions, it means—

Oh. Yeah. Of course you’d know that, it’s from the Bible, duh. Sorry, forgot who I was talking to. Anyway.

I asked him what kind of a favor he wanted, and he was pretty vague about it. So I told him I wouldn’t have sex with him or be his prostitute. I think he was offended that I would even think that, but given what I’d just been through, I had to make myself clear. 

My soul? No, I wasn’t worried about that. Or, I wasn’t worried enough for it to matter. Like, my life was so shitty that I would have happily gone to Hell if it meant he could fix things.

Yeah, I know. I don’t really mean it. Not anymore, anyway.

So I agreed. What else could I do? Even then, I trusted Lucifer. A hell of a lot more than I trusted those thugs Bobby sent after me, anyway.

He called a hotel that night, set me up in a room and told me to rest. Gave me a week off with pay, too, which kinda blew me away, to be honest. Guess money really doesn’t mean a thing to him, does it? 

Maze went with me to the apartment, scared the living daylights out of Bobby while I packed my bags. After that, I never went back. I used my week off to find a new place, changed my phone number, bought a high-tech lock for my front door, and... yeah. I got out. 

Actually, let me rephrase that. Lucifer got me out. If not for him, I’d probably be dead, or in jail, or on the streets. Things would be a lot different, a lot worse, if I’d never met him. 

No, I don’t know what he did to Bobby. I know he’s alive, though. I’m still Facebook friends with some of his buddies, and one of them messaged me a few months after I made the deal. Said something about Bobby’s parents checking him into a clinic. I assume that means rehab, but I don’t really know. To be honest, I don’t really care, either. 

The favor? I don’t know. He hasn’t cashed it in. Not yet, anyway. But when he does, I’ll be ready. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More detailed warning: Brigette recounts the story of a past relationship with an abusive man who was addicted to drugs. He got into some trouble with organized crime and tried to coerce Brigette into robbing Lux/Lucifer. When Brigette refused, he beat her. She does not describe the attack; she only describes being covered in bruises the day after.


	6. Raphaelle

Her story done, Brigette falls silent. She sniffs, dabs at her eyes with the napkin that Raphaelle gave her a moment ago. Raphaelle is about to thank her and find another human to talk to, when Brigette notices something over Raphaelle’s shoulder — her eyes go wide. A split-second later, a familiar voice rings out from behind her.

“Did you really think you could just walk in here, and I wouldn’t notice?”

“Really nice meeting you,” Brigette says quickly, before she scurries away. 

“Well?” Lucifer demands from considerably closer. 

Raphaelle draws in a breath and turns around. His jaw is clenched, and he’s gripping a glass of whiskey so tightly she fears he may break it. She doesn’t need her empathic powers to know that he is furious. 

“Brother,” she greets him neutrally.

“Oh, spare me the false pleasantries,” he scoffs. “What are you doing here, Raphaelle? Why are you hassling my employees?”

“They spoke to me quite willingly,” Raphaelle tries, but Lucifer doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Yes, and humans tell me their desires for the good of their health,” he retorts. “You know they can’t resist talking to you, you’re— how did that blind old coot put it? ‘The affable archangel’?”

Raphaelle feels her cheeks heat slightly with embarrassment, but she holds his gaze. “He was pretty kind to you, too, if I remember rightly,” she counters. 

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve come all the way from On High to discuss John bloody Milton. Because if so, I’ve serious concerns about the value of your pastimes in the Silver City. You might try getting a sports team,” he adds under his breath.

Despite his anger, Raphaelle finds herself chuckling at the remark. “You always could make me laugh, little brother,” she says more fondly, and while Lucifer doesn’t smile, his eyes seem to warm a little as he takes a pull from his glass. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he reminds her. 

Raphaelle hesitates. She has a reason for visiting — a good reason — but he won’t like it. What’s more, there is no way that he’ll believe that their Father has nothing to do with it. 

“I like collecting human stories,” she answers instead. Her eyes wander over the people that surround them. “They’re very fond of you, you know. You’ve been good to them.”

Lucifer’s expression doesn’t change. “Why are you here?” he asks.

Raphaelle sighs. “I wanted to see you,” she says. It is, after all, the truth. “I was wondering how you are.”

“I’m fine,” he replies immediately. He waves his drink in a shooing motion. “Off you go.”

“Sa— Lucifer,” she corrects herself, because this is the first time she’s been face-to-face with him in eons, and the impulse to treat her kid brother just as she did back then is strong. 

He notices the misstep, however, and straightens his spine. “This party is invite-only,” he says, cold once more. “Now that you’ve seen me, you can see yourself out.”

“Oh, come on,” she protests, trailing after him when he turns away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t what?” he spits, whirling around again. “Didn’t mean to show up here? Didn’t mean to interrogate my employees?”

“I just—” 

“Did you try to frighten them off?” he asks, stepping closer. “Did you tell them they’re working for big, bad Lucifer, and they ought to repent?”

“No,” Raphaelle replies, shocked and hurt that he would assume such a thing. “Not at all, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then what?” He lowers his voice to dangerous growl. “What is your game, huh? What are you after, what do you _want?”_

His powers don’t work on her, of course, but the truth comes spilling out regardless. “I wanted to make sure you were all right!” 

Lucifer blinks, clearly taken aback.

“I was worried,” she goes on more softly, “after Mum, and... Uriel. Word got around that you died as a mortal and went....” She shrugs. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Lucifer is staring at her. Raphaelle looks away awkwardly. Around them, the party continues. The music is quiet enough to allow for conversation, but loud enough to give them some privacy. None of the humans seem interested in her and Lucifer’s argument. They could be standing here invisible, except for— 

One human, a woman with dyed blonde hair, is striding across the bar purposefully, heading in their direction. She’s carrying a small baggie and inspecting the tiny blue pills within. 

“I don’t want to be a buzzkill, Lucifer,” she says, “and I know I’m not on duty, but maybe you could ask your employees not to try and sell me— oh, sorry,” she says, when she looks up from the bag at last. 

Her eyes flick uncertainly between Raphaelle and Lucifer, taking in their tense posture, but she smiles anyway and offers her hand to Raphaelle. 

“Sorry,” she says again. “Hi, I’m Chloe. You must be Lucifer’s sister, I heard you were visiting.”

“Hello,” Raphaelle starts to say, but Lucifer cuts across her. 

_“Don’t_ talk to her,” he says sharply. Raphaelle isn’t sure which of them he’s talking to. “Raphaelle was just leaving.”

But Raphaelle doesn’t move. Not when she notices how Lucifer’s edged closer to this human, how he’s interposed himself between her and Raphaelle, like he expects an attack. Raphaelle recalls the woman’s name and realizes who she is, and what he’s done for her. 

“This is your detective,” she says, delighted. “What an honor.”

“Raphaelle,” he warns.

Chloe’s smile has gone a bit brittle. “I’m not _his_ anything,” she says. 

“Of course not,” says Raphaelle, laying it on a little thicker, because Chloe should have reacted by now. Usually it takes less than this to get a human to relax and open up to her, but Chloe doesn’t. Her shoulders stay tight, her eyes almost as cold as Lucifer’s. 

Raphaelle frowns. “What’s wrong?” 

Her voice is like honey, but she may as well be talking to the marble floor for all the effect it has. Chloe folds her arms across her chest and doesn’t smile. Lucifer, however, snorts into his whiskey. 

“Is that how I looked, when I tried— what is it you call it?” he asks Chloe.

“Your mojo?” she says.

“Yes, that’s it,” he crows. He’s enjoying this immensely. “I’d like to think my mouth wasn’t quite as gaping, but—”

“No, you were worse,” Chloe says, but there’s no heat behind it, and Lucifer chuckles before draining his glass and setting it down with a thump on the bar. 

“Well, nice catching up, sis,” he says to Raphaelle. “And I thank you for your concern, although it’s a few millennia too late to do any good.”

“I don’t—” Raphaelle stutters, still a few steps behind. “Why didn’t she—”

“Clearly, you haven’t been fully briefed,” Lucifer replies. There’s a sort of quiet glee about him as he slips an arm around Raphaelle’s lower back and steers her towards to the stairs. “Best get back up there and ask Dad about it. I’m sure He’s eagerly awaiting your report anyhow, and we all know how patient He can be.”

“Dad didn’t send me,” Raphaelle tries to explain, but he isn’t listening. They’ve reached the exit, and Lucifer nods to Joel, who’s leaning on the wall beside the door. The human, who was so taken with Raphaelle less than an hour ago, rushes over to do his boss’ bidding.

“Bye bye, now,” Lucifer sing-songs.

“Sorry about this,” Joel tells her in a low voice, as he escorts Raphaelle out to the sidewalk. “You seem really nice, but boss wants you out, you’re out.”

“I understand,” Raphaelle says sweetly, and Joel slows his pace, smiles at her. “Can you explain something to me?”

“Sure,” he replies easily. 

“Who is Chloe Decker?” Raphaelle asks. 

Joel frowns. “You— you were just talking to her, she’s—”

“Yes, I know that,” says Raphaelle quickly. She isn’t explaining it right. “What I mean is, what’s so special about her? Why would Lucifer...” 

_Kill for her,_ she wants to ask. _Kill for her, and then die for her, too._

But she can’t say the words out loud, and Joel’s starting to break through the effect of her voice. His face is closing up, his natural inclination towards reticence is returning. 

“Never mind,” says Raphaelle, giving him another little dose. He smiles again. 

“Some people just leave an impression, I guess,” he says, and he heads back inside.

Raphaelle glances back for a final look. Chloe Decker is at her brother’s left side, still eyeing her with suspicion, and the demon, Mazikeen — who’s made herself scarce all night — now stands at his right, her grin wide and triumphant. 

Lucifer wiggles his fingers at Raphaelle cheerfully, and then the door closes. 

“I guess,” Raphaelle echoes, though there is no one on the empty street to hear her.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to hang out on the Internet, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://mrsd-writes.tumblr.com), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mrsd_writes), and [Dreamwidth](https://mrs-d.dreamwidth.org/).


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